Memory or fantasy?

V and I fuck in the big room, surrounded by sharks. I fall down on my job of protecting her.

Sofia sent me a video she knew would get me hard. She was right.

A detailed, slow, teasing undressing — and what comes after.

A note to a woman I haven’t yet met.

Emily lives far away, but she sent me four pictures in a black dress and boyshorts. Not enough, and not quite what I asked for — but that last shot of her ass made the teasing almost bearable.

The fantasy was me and eight or ten women. The reality was two, in black dresses, at opposite ends of a bar. My fallback position was, it turned out, pretty fucking spectacular.

A fantasy I’d like to make real, involving a hotel bar, black dresses, boyshorts, and very specific instructions.

Jealousy follows no rational rules.

Continuing to elaborate on the logistics and choreography of my core fantasy. The devil, as they say, is in the details.

I line you all up against a hotel wall and let my imagination do what it does best.